جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 110

Rino ─𖤝─ Saint Agatha’s smelled exactly the same like it did all those years ago. Old stone. Melted wax. The kind of place where men like me weren’t supposed to walk free but I’d always liked the contrast. I crossed the nave slowly, boots echoing through the dark, hands in my pockets. I didn’t bother with the pews. I didn’t kneel. God and I had an old agreement: I stay out of His business, and He stays out of mine. The blind spot was still there, tucked behind the last column near the altar, shadowed enough that anyone walking in wouldn’t see me until I wanted them to. The altar was where she used to meet me at night, twenty years ago, when she swore she hated me and still came anyway. Always angry, always beautiful, always shaking because she knew she shouldn’t want anything from me. I leaned against the pillar, lit a cigarette, let the smoke curl up toward the stained glass. The Virgin Mary watched me like she disapproved. I winked at her. “Relax,” I murmured under my breat

Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ I lifted my glass of sparkling water, letting it catch the sunlight streaming through the wall-length windows. It glittered the way my Allie’s hair used to when she’d run barefoot across our old marble floors, giggling, her little dresses trailing behind her. “Alessia, darling, you’re zoning out again.” Beatrice tapped the table lightly with her ring finger, massive diamond, third husband. I blinked, forced a smile, “I’m listening.” “You’re absolutely not,” Cinzia chimed, tossing her platinum hair over her shoulder. “We’ve been talking about Emma’s engagement for ten minutes, and you haven’t even commented on the ring. You always comment on the ring.” She was right. I always did. It was tradition, they said I had a curator’s eye for beauty and a tongue sharp enough to make even a jeweler sweat. But lately, the world felt like it was wrapped in cotton. It was muted, and muffled. “I think it’s lovely,” I murmured. Emma flushed, smiling. “It’s a cushion-cut pi

Rino ─𖤝─ I shouldn’t have been thinking about her. But that’s the curse I have, once I start thinking about her there's no going back for me. She gets into your blood, burrows under your ribs, makes a home inside the parts of you that were supposed to stay cold. One stupid kiss on the cheek and it still burned on my lips a week later. Her scent stuck in my head, warm, sweet, sun-soft. Her hair, that thick dark wave I wanted to wrap around my fist. Her eyes, big and brown looked like they had been painted by a Renaissance artist. Her skin was glowing even when she glared at me like she hated every breath I took. And that cheek. The one my lips touched, barely a kiss, barely a touch but it felt like something burst open in me anyway. She didn’t even realize how breakable she looked, fragile in a way that made every violent part of me sharpen, not to hurt her, fuck, no. I flicked my eyes back to the man tied to the chair. He whimpered and I slipped my free hand into my pocket. He

Rino ─𖤝─ I was still tasting her when I walked into my club. That soft, wrecking little kiss sat on my mouth like a bruise I didn’t want to heal. The kind of thing that gets a man killed if he lets it. The sound of bass hit me first, vibrating straight into my bones. Red lights washed over the room. I lit a cigarette as I moved through the crowd, the flame flaring sharp in the dark. I drew in deep, held it and then let the smoke spill from my mouth in a lazy stream, watching it curl into the lights above. One of my men handed me a bottle without asking. Something I’d once bought just because someone told me it was hard to get. I popped it with my thumb, not bothering with a glass. The music shifted and my head tipped with it, just a little. The crowd parted when I passed. Feminine hands reached for me, nails dragged along my arm. One of them smiled up at me, bold, beautiful, barely dressed, already touching my chest. I didn’t even look down. I took a drag from my cigarette a

Alessia ─ ∘❉∘ ─ "...this," he muttered against my mouth before crushing his lips onto mine. My mind went blank for a second, just sheer white-hot panic. He drove his mouth against mine, parting my lips with an arrogant ease that made me dizzy. My head spun. I tried to brace myself against his chest, but his grip on my waist was hard. He lifted me slightly, pressing me so hard against him I could feel the beat of his heart beating against my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. My body, which had been so tense and defensive all night, was suddenly melting into him instantly. My hands, which should have been pushing him away, found themselves gripping the expensive fabric of his jacket, clinging to him. My legs felt like jelly, useless. This wasn't logical. This wasn't the conversation I needed to have. This wasn't the calm, ten-minute evaluation. I was kissing him back. Every repressed memory, every confusing feeling from the last few days poured out in that kiss. He shifted, his kiss de